


Stand By

by SunriseSeaMonster



Category: ONEUS (Band), ONEWE (Band)
Genre: A Cappella, Adult Humor, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Cute, Fluff, Hyungu is a painter, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, No like REALLY soft, Seoho is a vocal coach, Soft Ending, lots of eating scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:40:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24536335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunriseSeaMonster/pseuds/SunriseSeaMonster
Summary: Hyungu isn't used to stepping outside of his comfort zone.  Meeting an attractive, eccentric singer at an a cappella competition isdefinitelyoutside of his comfort zone.Oh, today was an unusual day - but after this, there'll be no more distractions.
Relationships: Kang Hyungu | Kanghyun/Lee Seoho
Comments: 56
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kazzlikethat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazzlikethat/gifts).



> Pairing written at the request of [kazzuality.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazzuality/pseuds/kazzuality) It's a bit weird breaking in a brand new relationship tag, but here we are!

Kang Hyungu picks at the dried paint on his fingernails. He’s good with details, his paintbrushes gliding carefully along crown moldings, window frames, doorframes – all without a single dot of paint crossing the line Hyungu has set for its border. Even so, the nature of a painter’s life is just… paint-flecked. Most interior paints are shades of white, gray, cream – all pale neutrals – so by the time Hyungu collapses onto his worn, saggy sofa every evening, his somewhat veined hands look like the Milky Way – stars spangled in loose trails across his knuckles.

He wouldn’t mind, not terribly, if it weren’t for the fact that he also plays guitar and piano. Hyungu can think of nothing worse than an errant paint fleck making its way into the inner workings of one of his prized instruments. 

Thus, his nightly routine:  
1\. get home, sink into old paisley sofa  
2\. turn on a nature documentary (preferably one narrated by that nice English man with the soothing voice)  
3\. lean over to the side table with its small wooden drawer, extract a straight razor, acetone, and cotton pads – as well as an old towel to catch the fallout  
4\. scrape, scrape, scrape. 

It’s not a bad ritual, really. Hyungu finds it satisfying seeing all the paint come off in tiny flecks, as his television tells him all about flamingo life cycles, whale vocalizations, or baobab trees. 

Tonight, the soothing English narrator is discussing Alaskan bears. They congregate, Hyungu learns, in large numbers – swooping down onto the summer streams to feast together on migrating salmon. 

He’s just about scraped all the paint off his left hand when his phone rings, lighting up next to him on the sofa cushion. He gently accepts the call with a clean knuckle and puts the phone on speakerphone, after seeing the name on the caller ID. 

_“Hyungu-yah!”_

“Hey, Yonghoon.” 

_“Have you eaten?”_

“No, not yet.”

_“Are you picking at your fingers again?”_

Hyungu sighs. “You know I always clean my hands when I get home. Not all of us can have pristine, hygienic, and climate-controlled office jobs.”

_“You would hate working in an office, though.”_

Hyungu nods, before remembering Yonghoon can’t hear a nod through the speakerphone. “Yeah, you’re right. I would probably hate it. Anyway, what’s up?”

_“Well, listen – if you haven’t eaten yet, could I take you out to tacos? My treat.”_

“Should I be concerned that you’re offering to pay, without anybody even putting you up to it?”

_“I’m deeply offended! I don’t know who you take me for, but as your elder friend, I would be delighted to treat you.”_

Hyungu doesn’t respond, concentrating on one particularly stubborn fleck of oyster beige, at the tip of his index finger. 

Yonghoon’s sigh comes thick down the line. _“Okay, fine. And I do have a small favor to ask of you. I’d love to talk to you about it.”_

Hyungu’s giggle is soft. “It’s okay, I figured something was up. Free tacos, right, hyung?”

_“Free tacos,”_ confirms Yonghoon.

“All right, pick me up in 20.” 

_“Deal!”_ Yonghoon’s voice rings loudly enough that Hyungu winces slightly away from his phone. 

Yonghoon’s always a bit loud. Hyungu’s not super in the mood for Yonghoon’s loudness, not when he could keep watching these bears eating salmon, in peace and quiet. There’s another one, just now – reaching a paw into the river and just yanking up a big fish, right into its face, like an impatient child at a buffet. Fascinating. 

Still. Free tacos. 

Yonghoon wipes his fingers on a paper napkin. “So what I’m saying is that my friend and his team are really in a bind, here. They just don’t have enough judges for the upcoming high school competition, and so I told them I’d ask my friend. My friend being you.” 

“Me? But I’ve never competed in an a cappella competition, ever in my life. How am I qualified to judge one?” Hyungu frowns into his fried fish taco. 

“I know you haven’t competed!” Yonghoon’s smile hasn’t dimmed. If anything, his face gleams even more brightly. “But you’ve given so much helpful feedback to me and my group. You’re our most trusted advisor, you know that.” 

“Yeah…”

It’s true. Yonghoon’s a cappella group, Acapocalyptica, has come to rely on Hyungu’s expert musical advice on everything from arrangements to vocal control. It’s not that Hyungu _can’t_ sing; it’s more that he’s… well, a behind-the-scenes kind of a guy. Performance isn’t his thing. Occasionally, Yonghoon will ask whether Hyungu and his jam session buddies would like to collaborate with Acapocalyptica some time. Truth be told, Hyungu’s never even raised the offer with them, out of fear they’d accept. 

“Is this a paying gig?” Hyungu asks. 

“Your reward is the satisfaction of knowing that you’re helping fledgling musicians find their musical wings. Who would want money over that?” 

Hyungu laughs. “Are you serious right now, hyung?” 

“Well,” says Yonghoon, “They will at least pay back your expenses. And Dongmyeong – my friend who’s in charge of this region – he always caters something really nice for his judges. Besides, you get to hang out with me! And it’s fun. It’s tiring, but it’s fun.” 

Hyungu considers this, then asks, “Wait, it’s not like we’ll really be talking much, all evening, right? Like, we’ll have to watch all the competing a cappella groups and not chatter amongst ourselves, I’m guessing.” 

“Okay, yeah. You’re right that we wouldn’t actually get to talk much during the competition,” says Yonghoon. 

Hyungu’s eyes twinkle. “Perfect. I’m in. I’ve waited years to see whether you could keep your mouth shut for longer than ten minutes.” 

Yonghoon’s mouth turns into a cartoon _O_ of exaggerated outrage. “Rude!” But then his laughter breaks through. “So, you’ll do it?”

“I’ll do it.” Hyungu shoves the last of his fish taco into his mouth, hoping that having a mouth full of food will prevent Yonghoon from reaching over to hug and shake him in excitement. 

It doesn’t. 

Dongmyeong’s sparkling face lights up the judges’ deliberation room. Hyungu can see why this small, effervescent man is in charge of organizing high school singing events; his smile radiates more energy than the sea of fluorescent overhead bulbs. 

True to Yonghoon’s promise, the catered dinner is excellent: soft, warm bread rolls, pasta, salads, and even fresh fruit. One man – an attractive man with reddish, wavy hair – appears to be deconstructing his salad and penne pasta, placing the individual items onto three – no, _four_ – different plates. Weird. 

Dongmyeong taps a pen against a glass to get everyone’s attention. “Thank you all again so much for coming tonight. We couldn’t do this without our volunteers! I’ll just quickly introduce our judges to everyone, okay? First, we have Kim Geonhak, director of one of the best children’s choirs I’ve ever heard.” A broad-shouldered man dips his head in greeting. A few people in the room murmur their greetings.

“Next, we have Karen Miguk, award-winning soprano, known to all of us already…” continues Dongmyeong. A middle-aged woman with a watercolored scarf smiles at the room. There are a few knowing chuckles and glances. Do all the people here already know each other? 

“I’m sure we all know Jin Yonghoon–” Before Dongmyeong even finishes saying Yonghoon’s name, others are waving and grinning at his friend. Apparently, he’s a social butterfly in the a cappella world, too. Go figure. 

“Of course, I’m so delighted to welcome back Lee Seoho, best high tenor I’ve ever heard!” says Dongmyeong, indicating the fourth judge – the attractive man with reddish hair, who also, Hyungu now notices, has a brilliant smile, with intensely crescent-shaped eyes. Not that Hyungu’s looking. Of course.

“Finally,” Dongmyeong turns to Hyungu, “He has my intense gratitude for helping out on very short notice after our original judge had to back out. This is Kang Hyungu, everyone.” Hyungu nods at everyone. Most faces are friendly, despite the obvious lack of recognition. 

Dongmyeong picks up a stack of clipboards. “You’ll see that we’ve pre-attached small lights for you all, so that you can make your notes and indicate your scores without us raising the house lights.” He starts passing out the clipboards, then pauses when he gets to Hyungu. “This is your first time, I know. Yonghoon told me. Everything happens _really_ quickly, but the most valuable thing for these kids is your feedback. If you can just scrawl any constructive criticism down on these pages here, behind the numerical score sheets, the groups will be extremely grateful.” Hyungu nods in understanding and takes his clipboard. Dongmyeong’s face turns a tiny bit pink as he adds, “And… because this is a high school competition, we really do try to be a little kind with the judging. Nothing lower than a 3, you know?” 

Seoho’s voice cuts across the room, “They earn what they earn, Dongmyeong!” 

Dongmyeong sighs and shrugs his shoulders, moving on to pass clipboards to Yonghoon and Karen. 

Seoho bounds across the room to Hyungu. “So, it’s your first time judging?” His eyes glimmer. 

“Yeah,” says Hyungu. 

“What groups were you in?” asks Seoho. “I don’t recognize your name…” 

“Oh, um. I wasn’t in any competitive groups,” admits Hyungu. “I’m just… sort of generally musical, I guess.” 

Seoho’s face falls, instantly becoming skepticism incarnate. “They asked you to judge, without any performing experience?” 

“I guess that…” Hyungu shifts awkwardly, “I guess Yonghoon vouching for me was sufficient?” 

He’s saved from having to explain himself further by Dongmyeong’s announcement that the judges are now to kindly proceed to the auditorium. 

“Wait!” Hyungu asks. “Do I need to add up the scores myself? Can I use my phone?” 

“No, no!” Dongmyeong’s eyes are wide. “We have tabulators for that! Just pass each score and comment sheet to your left after each group is done performing, okay?” 

Given that Hyungu is supposed to be the one judging others tonight, it’s surprising how nervous he feels. They start walking to the auditorium, and he shivers a bit, shaking his blond hair a bit in the process. A strand falls into his eyes and – mid-stride – Seoho reaches out to poke the strand back out of his face. The auburn-haired singer (best high tenor ever, huh?) grins at Hyungu’s surprised expression. 

“It’ll be fun,” whispers Seoho to Hyungu as they approach their reserved seats. “Just don’t let the teachers or parents smell your fear, and you’ll be fine.” 

Seoho and Dongmyeong are both right. It’s fun, and it’s intensely fast-paced. Most groups perform three-song sets, and Hyungu gets into a rhythm of writing comments and deciding on scores before the third song is up, so that he can dutifully pass his scoring sheets to his left before the next group begins. Mostly, he just goes with his gut.

The judges are seated with empty seats around them, to prevent anybody looking over their shoulders – including each other. Still, Hyungu can see Yonghoon’s grin in the darkness to his left, as well as Seoho’s equally brilliant grin to his right. Surrounded by this much smiling, it’s no wonder he finds a smile creeping onto his own face.

The groups’ abilities and talent levels are all over the place. Some groups are so good that Hyungu can hardly believe the singers are still in high school. Others… _well._ One group is so dismal that the only comments Hyungu can bring himself to write are vaguely encouraging platitudes. 

They break for intermission and walk to the judges’ room. 

Yonghoon checks on Hyungu to make sure he’s fine (he is), then flits about the room, laughing uproariously with every other volunteer and staff member. 

“He’s your friend, huh?” Seoho’s voice startles Hyungu. “You two don’t seem much alike, to be honest.”

Hyungu pauses to consider this, worrying his fingertips against each other. He imagines he feels paint on his fingernails, though he’d checked carefully before leaving the house.

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way!” says Seoho. “Just, he’s very friendly, and… you’re… uh…” Seoho’s face colors, as he realizes what he’s saying. 

Hyungu is saved from having to respond by the appearance of Geonhak. “Is Seoho bothering you? What are you doing, harassing the new judge?” 

“I’m helping him feel welcome!” protests Seoho, crescent eyes now slightly fiery. 

It’s Geonhak’s turn to look skeptical. He looks pointedly at Hyungu and says, “Don’t let him be a little shit, okay?”

“Wha… how… you’re such a dick, Geonhak!” sputters Seoho.

Hyungu grins as Dongmyeong runs over to their corner of the room. “Oh my gosh, everyone, we’re being kind and _professional_ to the new judge, right?” 

“Right,” say Seoho and Geonhak in unison, and Hyungu laughs out loud – a proper, loud laugh.

He catches Seoho looking at him with a shifting – and unreadable – expression. 

Dongmyeong raises an eyebrow at the trio, then turns around to speak with the other volunteers.

Before Hyungu can collect his thoughts, the judges are whisked back to the auditorium for the second half of the competition, plunged once more into darkness. He feels illuminated only by the two brilliant smiles to either side – one familiar and brotherly, the other newer and… exciting? Intriguing.

Hyungu shakes his head slightly and turns back to concentrate on his comment sheets. 

After the groups are done performing, when it’s time to deliberate on individual awards, the judges find themselves at an impasse. Yonghoon and Karen want to award Best Soloist to a young soprano with impressive, arpeggiated runs, while Geonhak and Seoho think the award should go to a feisty boy with a strong belt and charismatic stage presence. The judges argue in circles. Finally, Yonghoon tilts his head to stare at Hyungu. “Hyungu? What do you think? It appears that you’re our tie-breaker.” 

Hyungu has been anticipating this question. He takes a deep breath and says, “Neither. I think it should go to the girl who sang the lead in the very last song, because she was the only singer all night to make me _feel_ something.”

Seoho is staring at him. Wait, they all are. Hyungu just happened to notice Seoho’s face first. 

Hyungu tries to lower his shoulders from next to his ears, and he continues, “When she started that song, her voice all low and controlled, then slowly brought everyone to tears by the bridge… don’t tell me you weren’t crying a little.”

The other judges shuffle their notes and breathe a bit more deliberately than before. 

“He’s right,” says Yonghoon. “I attributed my emotions to it being the last song of the night, but I had actual tears coming out of my actual face.”

“Weird way to put it, Yonghoon,” says Geonhak, giving Hyungu’s friend a bemused smile across the table, “But I agree. She had my heart in her hands.” 

“Me too,” agrees Karen, putting her elbows on the table. “She was great.”

Dongmyeong clears his throat. “Not that we need it to be unanimous, but… Seoho?” 

Seoho hasn’t broken eye contact with Hyungu since he started speaking. “Hyungu’s right,” he says, finally breaking his gaze to look at Dongmyeong. “I got wrapped up in technical firepower, but… that soloist understands what music is about. Feelings. Helping us feel what it is to be human.” He turns back to look at Hyungu again. 

Hyungu rubs his thumbnails across his other nails, under the table, and for some reason feels unable to meet Seoho’s focused expression.

Dongmyeong beams at them all. “Okay, that’s it, then. Thank you all so, so much. Remember not to discuss any judging details outside this room, especially not with parents or teachers. Hell hath no fury like a parent whose child didn’t win a competition!” He sounds like he’s speaking from experience, and Hyungu laughs, standing up from the table alongside the other judges. 

Hyungu’s gathering his coat and scarf when a shadow falls across his view. “I want to apologize,” says Seoho, face hovering just next to Hyungu’s. 

“Why? What for?” asks Hyungu. 

“I just… I guess I underestimated you.” 

Hyungu shrugs – shrugging the coat on, shrugging the discomfort off, or maybe both – and says, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Let me make it up to you,” offers Seoho. “You must be hungry; dinner was hours ago. One of my favorite late-night diners is nearby. The food is mediocre, the décor is totally dated, and the service is terrible. I love it!” 

Hyungu looks for some indication that Seoho is kidding, but his beaming smile seems entirely genuine, if a little playful. He again feels his own face responding, lips twitching at the corners. “Who could decline that offer? I accept,” he says. Beyond Seoho’s even wider smile, Hyungu’s eyes catch on Yonghoon, talking animatedly to one of the tabulators. “Oh,” he says, suddenly surprised at himself for the mental slip, “Yonghoon was my ride here…” 

“Oh, let’s see if he wants to come. Geonhak, too! I think Karen has already left.” 

Geonhak declines the offer, as does Yonghoon. “Seoho, can I entrust you to get Hyungu home safely? You’re a good driver, right?” asks Yonghoon.

“I studied the driving laws very intensely!” Seoho says, pouting a tiny bit. 

“That doesn’t… err.” Yonghoon doesn’t seem to know how to respond. 

“Awesome! Sounds great,” says Hyungu, surprising both Yonghoon and himself. Part of his brain desperately wants to escape back home to his nature documentaries and guitar. But another part tells him to get mediocre food with an auburn-haired tenor. 

Well, today was an unusual day. Hyungu can get back to his routines tomorrow, with no more distractions.

Yonghoon flicks his eyes back and forth between Hyungu and Seoho before grinning. “Talk to you tomorrow, Hyungu-yah! Get home safely!” 

Oh, boy. 

Seoho puts on his own coat, and they start walking in the crisp, night air. 

Hyungu tells himself he has no idea why Yonghoon was grinning like that. Damn, that man can be annoying.


	2. Chapter 2

Seoho wasn’t lying. The food is mediocre at best, the décor is dated and tacky, and the service borders on criminal neglect. 

It’s all… kind of charming, somehow? The floor tiles have seen better days, their black and white pattern now interrupted in an uneven mosaic of replacements, and the red neon sign in the window casts a watermelon-colored glow onto the table Hyungu shares with Seoho. 

Hyungu pokes at his breaded, fried okra and eyes the small serving of feta dressing. “Am I meant to dip the okra in the dressing?” he asks Seoho. 

Seoho shrugs. “I never eat anything the way they serve it to me, anyway, and I don’t understand people who do.” Hyungu has a flashback to the singer’s strange pasta deconstruction at the competition venue. Sure enough, Seoho now appears to be arranging his burger ingredients into some sort of abstract art pattern, like one of those logic puzzles – _How much space do you need to fit this many slices of lettuce and tomato before there is overlap?_

Their waitress, they have concluded, is high as a kite. Her pupils are large and glassy, and her movements are so agonizingly slow that, once she’s out of earshot, Seoho jokes it’s like she’s being played at 0.25x speed on YouTube. 

Hyungu dips the tip of his fork into the feta dressing, then licks it tentatively off the tines. “Oh, wow. This stuff is actually really tasty,” he tells Seoho.

Seoho pulls a face. “Better you than me. You’d have to pay me to eat that stuff. It’s all… creamy-white and gloopy. It has blobs in it, Hyungu! Blobs!” 

“Pay you to eat it? What, are we back in high school ourselves? Who still pays anyone to eat weird stuff?” 

Seoho shrugs, a mischievous smile spreading across his features. “I’d pay you to chug it. If it’s as good as you say it is… just chug that little tub of it.”

“What?!” Hyungu is perplexed. He looks at Seoho, then at the small tub of dressing. There’s not a lot of it – maybe a quarter of a cup – but it’s large enough that he doesn’t want to just… just _drink_ it, either. The feta dressing is creamy, off-white, and has little blobs of feta cheese submerged in uneven chunks. Hyungu imagines it all slithering down his throat and shudders. “Why would you pay me to chug this?” 

“Because it’s funny! I’ll give you a twenty.” Seoho reaches inside his pocket, extracts his wallet, and removes a twenty-dollar bill. He shows it to Hyungu, then lays it flat on the table. 

Hyungu groans. “Maybe you can tell I’m working-class. I paint interiors for a living, mostly commercial properties and new-build apartment communities. But I am not so hard up for money that I’m willing to debase myself for a twenty-dollar bill.” 

Seoho considers this. “Okay, fair. If you chug this feta dressing, you can pick the music for the whole drive home. My spidey-senses tell me that would be valuable to you, Mister ‘I’m just generally musical.’” 

Their path home lies along a mostly featureless stretch of highway, and it’s over an hour’s drive.

Hyungu hears himself say, “Okay.” He represses his inner alarm bells. “I pick the music. _And_ I get the twenty.” 

If Seoho had a smiling face before, it’s now absolutely solar, gleaming teeth and crescent eyes quivering in boyish anticipation. 

Hyungu sighs, shakes his head, and reaches for the tub of feta dressing. He takes a deep breath, tilts his head back and jiggles the dressing into his mouth and down his throat. 

He’s actually doing well – the dressing is going down – until his brain reminds him of how absurd this is. He giggles, mid-swallow, and a small glob of feta dressing comes launching back out of his mouth, sailing in a wide arc across the old black-and-white tiled floor. 

Hyungu and Seoho collapse in fits of laughter loud enough to draw the stares from other tables, mostly occupied by inebriated undergraduate students. 

“Please tell me I still get to pick the music,” Hyungu says, after he’s wiped his mouth. 

“Oh, you get that and the twenty, for sure,” says Seoho, through his continued giggling. “Seeing you spit up that little bit of creamy white dressing was like seeing the second coming of Christ.” 

Hyungu stares at him for a split second, and they start laughing again, so hard that Hyungu has tears coming out of his eyes for the second time tonight. 

“I can’t believe you said that,” he finally manages to tell Seoho. 

“Eh, gotta keep up my reputation as the troublemaking gay somehow, right?” Seoho’s smile remains bright, but an edge of some other emotion creeps into his expression. 

“Are you?” asks Hyungu, turning thoughtful. 

“Gay? Well, yeah,” Seoho looks at him as though he were a child. 

“No,” says Hyungu. “Troublemaking.” 

Seoho pokes at the fragments of food strewn across his various plates, then sets down his fork. “You want to continue this discussion in the car? We’ve got a long drive ahead of us,” he says. 

Hyungu nods. “Okay.” 

_____ 

The stretch of highway back to the city where Seoho and Hyungu both live used to be bleak and barren – pine trees, some cow fields, and not much else. In the last ten years, strip malls have started to line its edges, along with medical facilities and restaurants. 

“This whole stretch of highway has changed so much,” Hyungu says, half to himself. 

“I didn’t realize you were all that familiar with it. I’m going to feel silly if I tried telling you all about my favorite diner and you graduated from–” 

“No, no,” interrupts Hyungu. “I just had friends who went there. I mean, doesn’t everybody in this state?” 

“Fair,” agrees Seoho. A moment of silence passes between them before he asks, “So, uh, did you always want to be a painter?” 

Hyungu scoffs at this. He watches the streetlamps blink past. There used to be long stretches of this highway without any streetlighting. If you wanted to, you could just cut your headlights for a split-second and be plunged into a void of pure, total darkness. Those days are clearly gone. Probably for the best, knowing drunken college kids.

He realizes Seoho is still waiting for an answer. “I don’t know why I’m even telling you this, but I guess it’s late, and I’m tired, or whatever.” He sighs, slumps further into the passenger seat. “I wanted to become a musician. I took so many music lessons. My parents… my amazing parents, they paid for so much musical education. Guitar lessons, vocal coaching, piano lessons… oh, they funded it all.” 

“I see.” Seoho’s voice is gentle but curious. “Why do I hear regret in your tone of voice?” 

“Well, I ended up being too afraid. That’s it. I try to blame other things, say that painting is a wiser choice, a steadier source of income… but no, it’s fear. After all those sacrifices, I’m too much of a coward to actually become a full-time musician in any sense.” 

“Ehhh,” Seoho makes a skeptical noise. “Even telling me this requires some bravery, don’t you think?” 

Hyungu clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shakes his head. “No, no. This is just me being tired and opening up to you because I probably won’t ever see you again.” 

Seoho laughs – a high-pitched, car-filling laugh. “Don’t be an idiot. I already got your number from Yonghoon-hyung, just in case you forgot to give it to me later.” 

Hyungu feels all the blood rush to his face. “What?” 

“Oh, if you seriously don’t want to talk to me again, that’s cool, and I really will delete it from my phone. I’m not a stalker.” Seoho’s voice is light.

“No… no, it’s fine,” says Hyungu, head spinning slightly, in time with the music playing through the car stereo system. 

And it is fine. Isn’t it? Why wouldn’t it be? It’s fine. 

They’ve made it to the next county before Seoho suddenly says, “We should go explore that little tower coming up ahead.”

“What little tower?” Hyungu furrows his brows. “Wait, the weird tower with a clock on it, in the middle of nowhere? Is that still there, after all this time?” 

Seoho laughs and says, “Yeah, I guess you didn’t see it on your drive out, with Yonghoon. It’s still there – that weird-ass little tower in the middle of nowhere. Haven’t you always wanted to go explore it?”

Hyungu feels bewildered. “But it’s already so late… I don’t have work in the morning, but aren’t you tired? Is it safe for you to keep driving this late?”

“I’m totally good. Very awake. And I want to know what’s at the tower!” Seoho sounds giddy, like a child talking about exploring a new playground. “You game?”

What does Hyungu have to lose, anyway? “Sure. I guess.”

They approach the stucco tower, and Hyungu pinches himself slightly. This whole weekend is proceeding completely differently from how he planned, and his stomach feels unsettled.

Seoho parks the car alongside the tower, and they both just breathe, looking at it through the panes of the car window. There’s not enough light to really make out more than its general outline.

“Well, no time like the present!” announces Seoho, and he bounces out of the car, closing his car door behind him quickly enough to hurt Hyungu’s sensitive ears a bit. 

Hyungu joins him in the chilly, quiet countryside air, squinting up at the completely out-of-place stucco tower. The clock doesn’t work now, if it ever had. A small door is in the side of the ground level. Despite the darkness, Hyungu can make out the glimmer in Seoho’s crescent-shaped eyes. 

“Do you always do this?” he asks Seoho. 

“Do what?” 

“Just impulsively go exploring random places in the middle of the night.” 

“No,” says Seoho. “I like doing my research. But the world is full of interesting questions, and I want to know the answers to all of them. What am I going to do, do an internet search for _What is the weird lonely tower on Highway 316?”_

“I mean… we could have, actually,” says Hyungu. 

Seoho pauses. “God, you’re right. But there’s no sense of adventure in that. Or romance! Come on, Hyungu, let’s try the door!” 

Hyungu is grateful for the darkness, obscuring what must be a full-face flush. 

They try the door and find it locked. “Well, that was predictable,” says Hyungu. “Who’s going to leave a tower unlocked for idiots like us to come along and explore, in the middle of the night?” 

“I dunno,” says Seoho. “It’s the countryside. Sort of, anyway. Country expectations are different from city expectations.” 

They lean against the tower, breathing in the stillness and listening to the faint sounds of the few stubborn insects still active in the cooling weather.

“Would you ever move out to the country?” asks Hyungu, before realizing he’s not sure where the question came from in his mind. 

“Maybe,” says Seoho. “As long as I could still sing, I could live anywhere. I want a family one day, and if my kids end up being anything like me, they’ll try jumping off roofs and running around in the dirt, chasing all of their own _What if?_ scenarios. A lot of that is safer out here, away from big city traffic.”

Hyungu doesn’t respond. From the little he knows of Seoho, this actually makes total sense. Better to have your children running into wild turkeys than stray speeding cars.

Seoho clears his throat. “What about you?” 

Hyungu shakes his head in the darkness. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.” Maybe it’s because he’s tired, but Hyungu doesn’t feel he knows anything, at the moment.

“Mmm.” For once, Seoho doesn’t comment.

_____ 

Seoho drops Hyungu off at his split-level house in the suburbs, and Hyungu represses the crazy urge to invite the singer inside. His neighbor’s sprinklers are going, despite the onset of rapidly cooling autumn weather, and the smell of the sprinkler water on grass feels distinctly more of a morning scent than nighttime. 

“Thank you for the ride home, Seoho,” he says. 

He’s about to close the car door when Seoho leans over and butts his hand against the door, propping it open. “I didn’t mean to freak you out,” says the singer. “It’s okay that I have your number and maybe even use it, right?” 

Hyungu squints into the lilac-gray light seeping around his neighbor’s house. “Yeah,” he finally says. “It’s okay.” 

_____ 

Hyungu’s not sure what he anticipated. A week’s break to gather his thoughts, maybe. A chance to watch, alone, his latest nature documentary – this one about bats – before jamming out with his buddies in their weekly meetup. Some quiet time, free from dealing with slightly hyperactive singers or crazy detours to mysterious roadside towers.

But as he’s about to sit down with a box of crackers and his bat documentary, his phone alerts him to an incoming text. 

**_Seoho:_**  
 _I found your music online_

**_Hyungu:_**  
 _You what?_

**_Seoho:_**  
 _Yeah, I found your music online! You might want to tell your buddy who posted the clips to YouTube to remove your full name. You’re good, though. Like, so good I don’t want to use the emoji to express what I thought about your playing, cause it’ll freak you out._

**_Hyungu:_**  
 _I’m gonna kill him. He said he wasn’t going to post those videos publicly – that anybody who wanted to watch would have to use a link!_

**_Seoho:_**  
 _Bummer. Anyway, you’re good. Want to go grab dinner tonight?_

**_Hyungu:_ **   
_Speaking of my absolute asshat of a friend, I’m actually meeting him and my other buddy to jam out tonight._

**_Seoho:_**  
 _And to tear him a new one, sounds like._

**_Hyungu:_**  
 _And to tear him a new one. Yes._

**_Seoho:_**  
 _See, that’s what I thought. Sweet._

**_Hyungu:_ **   
_What?_

Hyungu stares at his phone.

**_Seoho:_**  
 _Never mind. Anyway, have fun! Dinner date later this week?_

**_Hyungu:_**  
 _I’ll keep in touch._

Yeah, right. There is no way he’s texting Seoho back. Oh, no. No way. This is all too much. 

And he is going to absolutely _murder_ Giwook for putting their jam session footage online for anyone to find. He’s such a brilliant musician and producer, but he lacks all common sense.

Hyungu groans. The bats will have to wait for another day. He’s going to kill the next hour, before he leaves for the jam session, dreaming of all the ways he could get revenge on Giwook.

_____ 

As soon as he sees Giwook’s cheery, youthful grin, Hyungu sighs. He could never stay angry at his friend. They’ve known each other too long, and there’s not a single malicious molecule in Giwook’s body. 

Anger aside, though, Hyungu is still irritated. “Giwookie,” he says, as soon as he’s inside his friends entryway, “You told me our sessions were going to be private – that the YouTube link would stay between us. How come somebody was able to search for my name and find it?”

Giwook’s smile drops, and he looks at the floor, seemingly trying to decide what to do. 

Hyungu sighs. “And don’t try telling me it was an accident. You don’t look surprised by what I’m telling you.” 

Giwook’s cheeks go pink. “I wouldn’t have lied! I’m just… I’m honestly not sure. We all sound okay, but your guitar solos have gotten stupidly good, like really extraordinary! The world deserves to see it. And hear it.”

“Hear what?” says Harin, Giwook’s roommate, entering the living area. 

“Giwookie put a clip of our playing online, and he made it available to anybody who searches for it,” explains Hyungu. Harin looks sympathetic but unsurprised.

“Well…” Giwook winces. 

“Well, what?” asks Hyungu. 

“Technically it wasn’t just the one clip.” 

“What?!” Now both Hyungu and Harin express their surprise. 

Harin leans in toward his roommate. “What all did you put online?” 

Giwook sighs. “A few.”

“A few what?” demands Hyungu. 

“A few… hours’ worth.” 

Hyungu and Harin both groan, but then Harin starts chuckling. “I mean, your guitar playing is really good, Hyungu-yah.” 

“That’s what I said!” chimes in a hopeful Giwook. 

“But I should have some control over this!” says Hyungu. “You can’t just… can’t just expose people’s private lives to the world without their knowledge.” 

Giwook puts his hands against his temples. “I know. I can’t believe I used your real name. But I just… I wanted anybody who might need a session guitarist to be able to find you. It was dumb, I know. I’ll take them offline. I posted the clips a few months ago. If it makes you feel any better, I checked for comments about a week ago, and nobody had said anything. I think the clip with the most views had been watched, like, 10 times. Nothing crazy.” 

“Okay,” says Hyungu. He reaches out for Giwook and folds his friend into a hug. “Please do that. Take it offline, and ask me next time, okay?” Giwook nods. “But thank you for believing in me.” 

Harin clears his throat. “Guys, I’ve got a homemade pizza in the oven. Should we eat that while Giwook gets to work on cleaning up that YouTube account, before we head to the garage to rock out?” 

Hyungu and Giwook murmur their agreement. 

Hyungu has a slice of pizza halfway to his mouth when Giwook screams. Not a yelp, not a gasp – a scream. 

“Over 20,000 views?!” Giwook’s eyes look ready to pop out of his face.

Hyungu lets the pizza slice fall back to his plate. 

Giwook looks desperate and confused. “How did this happen?” 

Harin leans over his shoulder and points to something on the laptop screen. “Look, someone reacted to it, and that video has nearly 100,000 views. See, there! That user: _SeohoReacts._ That must be what’s driving all the traffic here.”

Hyungu feels like he’s going to pass out. 

Giwook’s face has now turned into a dazed, disbelieving smile. “Hyungu, you need to read some of these comments. _Blondie can step on me. Look at the power that guitarist holds! I need to know more about these guys, especially that guitarist. He looks just like something from an anime.”_

Now Hyungu _really_ feels like he’s going to pass out. 

Hyungu is able to blink away the angry stars in his vision long enough to realize that another person has some explaining to do. Looks like he’s going to have to text Seoho after all. Ugh. Fuck him gently with a chainsaw; how did this weekend go from watching bears catch salmon to _Blondie can step on me_ in less than 48 hours?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Hyungu. Deep breaths!


	3. Chapter 3

Hyungu practices a guitar solo in his living room. His fingers are starting to cramp. He can’t seem to get it right, and the tension is building throughout his body. 

He tries one more time, then yells out loud in frustration. 

Surely Hyungu’s not a perfectionist. He just… happens to want everything to be perfect. 

Well, about his music at least. He shakes his head, takes a few deep breaths, and starts again.

_____ 

Hyungu waits for Seoho on a bouncy leather cube. Is it a seat? Is it an ottoman? Hyungu’s not sure, the same way he’s not sure whether the abstract art behind the hostess stand is meant to resemble a slightly deranged face – or whether he’s just unwittingly given himself an internal Rorschach test. 

The ebullient host in a jaunty bowtie had offered to seat Hyungu before “his dining companion this fine evening” arrived, but Hyungu had declined that offer. Now he’s rethinking his choice, shifting uncomfortably on the bouncy cube and wondering why Seoho would have insisted on meeting him at this restaurant. 

Seoho had categorically refused to consider talking about the reaction video via text or phone call, insisting on dinner to talk things over, so now Hyungu is left staring at the dapper host’s bowtie and feeling intensely out of place. 

Finally, Seoho arrives – on time, technically, though Hyungu got there early enough that it feels as though Seoho is late. 

To Hyungu’s great relief, Seoho makes no effort to hug him or do anything touchy-feely by way of hello. He just beams his gargantuan smile at Hyungu, says, “Hi!” and bounces over to the hostess stand, requesting that they be seated. 

Hyungu swears the bowtied host waggles his eyebrows at them before escorting them to a quiet table in a corner.

“My name is Mandy, and I’ll be taking care of your dining experience this evening,” says their server. “Our experiences are all organic, seasonal, and locally obtained, suitable for replenishing the nutrients lost by the body to the stressors of this modern world. We offer three different tasting menus: the raw vegan option, the gluten-free option, or the raw vegan _and_ gluten-free option – best for those seriously committed to honoring their bodies. The choice is yours, keeping in mind that your choices reflect not only on you but also on this restaurant and the food supply chain as a whole.”

Seoho, to Hyungu’s relief, looks just as confused as Hyungu feels. “Come again?” asks the singer. 

“Well,” sighs Mandy. “Our dining experience manifesto is here, on page 3 of your menus.” She taps against Seoho’s menu until she finds the appropriate chunk of text. _Manifesto?_

“I’ll leave you both to consider our offered experiences, shall I?” she continues. “While you’re reflecting on your chosen dining path tonight, would you like me to get any drinks started for you at our wellspring of health?” 

“Do you mean the bar?” asks Seoho. Hyungu is grateful at least one of them is able to communicate here. 

Mandy sighs again, this time slumping one shoulder dramatically lower. “Sure. The bar.” 

Seoho looks at Hyungu. “I’ll… have a Coke?” asks Hyungu. 

“Is Pepsi okay?” asks Mandy. 

Seoho stands up. “Actually, I think… that’s a bridge too far. I’m so, so sorry, Mandy. We’ll go elsewhere. Thank you for your time. I’ll check out your manifesto another time, okay?” 

Hyungu jolts up from the table, a thrill shivering through his veins. He’s never just… left a restaurant before. 

As they’re walking out the front door, Hyungu asks, “Why on earth did you want to meet here?!” 

Seoho stops just under the awning and grins. “It has terrible reviews, and we had so much fun the last time we went to a place with bad reviews.” 

Hyungu feels his mouth open of its own accord, but words fail him. Truly, Seoho’s mind just seems to work on its own special wavelength. There’s logic. It’s just… illogical logic.

Seoho looks brightly toward the parking lot. “Wanna just go to the chicken sausage stand instead?” 

“Yes!” Hyungu feels a flood of relief. 

“Should we both drive?” asks Seoho. “Seems a little environmentally irresponsible. I guess Mandy got to me on some level.” 

Hyungu fidgets his thumbnail across his fingers. “We can take my van, if you don’t mind inhaling paint fumes.” 

“Sounds great! Lead the way, Hyungu!”

The chicken sausage stand smells delicious; the service at the counter is friendly and unpretentious. Seoho and Hyungu sit down with their food on the community-style benches, near a porch heater. 

They start eating immediately, and at first the only sounds are their desperately hungry bites, against the backdrop of city traffic. “This is so much better than whatever that other place would have been,” Hyungu finally murmurs. 

Seoho grunts agreement, unable to tear his face away from his chicken sausage on a hoagie roll. 

“Wait,” says Hyungu, narrowing his eyes across the table, “You didn’t even take it apart! Whatever happened to never eating things as they’re presented to you?” 

Seoho swallows. “Are you kidding? This stuff is manna from heaven. I would never disgrace it by changing it in any way.” He chuckles into his hoagie roll, shaking his head slightly, as if the distinction should be obvious. 

Seoho’s auburn hair clings to his forehead slightly, and Hyungu resists the urge to poke it back for him. Some instinct tells him that although Seoho had brushed his own hair out of his face at the a cappella competition, he’s, well… _touchy_ about being touched himself. 

Once they’re no longer ravenous, Hyungu puts both elbows on the table and clears his throat. “So,” he says. “Don’t you think putting out a reaction video for our little jam session was a teeny bit of a dick move?” 

Seoho laughs his high-pitched laugh. “No way, Hyungu. If it makes you feel better, I had already recorded, edited, and uploaded it by the time we texted. If I had known your friend made it public against your wishes, I wouldn’t have directed any viewers to it. I thought you’d be happy. Most musicians want more publicity, not less!” 

“But I’m not a musician, Seoho! I’m a painter.” Hyungu hears the exasperation in his voice. 

“Bullshit,” says Seoho cheerfully, seemingly unconcerned. He wipes his fingers on a paper napkin.

Hyungu waits for Seoho to say something – anything – else, but there’s no follow-up, only Seoho smiling that twinkling smile at him in between sips of sweet iced tea. 

Well, two can play at that game. Hyungu’s good at not talking. He sips on his Coke and takes in the evening air. 

Eventually, Seoho does speak, but it’s not to clarify his earlier outburst. “In addition to running a YouTube channel of reaction videos, I’m a vocal coach,” he says. “If you wanted to try singing along with your impressive guitar skills, I’d be happy to listen. For free. You know, to try to make up for my sending all those new fans to your channel.” 

Is that what they are? New fans? 

“I told you, I’m not a musician.”

Seoho cocks his head thoughtfully. “You keep saying that. If you’re being serious, then I don’t think that word means – ” 

“… what I think it means?” finishes Hyungu for him. “I am being serious. And here’s what being a musician would mean to me: it would mean creating and sharing music, on purpose, with others – music that I’m proud of.” 

Seoho shrugs. “It sounds to me like the pride in your work is the only thing missing from that description.” 

“What’s it to you, anyway?” Hyungu feels his anger bubbling up his throat. 

“Don’t you want to pursue your dream?” 

“You have no idea what my dreams are!” 

Now Seoho finally looks a little taken aback. “Do I not? I’m not saying painting interiors isn’t its own kind of noble profession. And I can tell you do care about that job, just from the way your painting van is spotless and organized. But just… you told me in the car…” 

“I was tired, Seoho. I wasn’t thinking clearly, and I should never have told you all those personal details of my life. Sorry to lay all of that on you. I think maybe… maybe you’ve just blown my words a little out of proportion.” 

Seoho looks at him, takes another sip of sweet tea, and then shakes his head. “No, I’m right.” 

“What?!” Hyungu is ready to tear his hair out. 

“The problem is that now I’ve seen and heard you play guitar, and I’ll never be able to unsee or unhear it. I just don’t want you wasting your talent.” 

“You think… you think what I’m doing with my life is a waste? You don’t even know me!” 

Seoho cringes. “I’m sorry. It was a bad choice of words.” 

Hyungu gets up and clears their dinner debris from the table. “Thank you for apologizing. I’m gonna be pissed about this for a while, though.” 

“Thanks for clearing the table. Sorry again. I understand if you don’t want to see me again, although I’d really appreciate a ride back to my car.” 

“Don’t be overdramatic. I wouldn’t like… not want to see someone again just because they said one rude thing.”

“So, you want to see me again?” Seoho’s face brightens again, eyes infuriatingly cute in their crescent glimmer.

Hyungu groans. “Do you have your coat? Let’s go.” 

_____ 

“He’s just so annoying!” Hyungu tells Giwook and Harin. 

“Yes, you’ve said that,” Harin says. 

“A few times now,” adds Giwook. “Why do you keep thinking about it?”

Hyungu just huffs. 

“Yeah,” says Harin with a smirk, “Why do you keep thinking about _him?”_

“Shut up.” Hyungu holds his guitar close, as if to hide behind it. 

“So, like… when was the last time you actually went on a date with anybody?” asks Giwook. “Because if you ask me, the sexual tension between you two is incredibly amusing to hear about from a distance, but I’m guessing it’s probably kind of stressful to be living it.”

And there it is. Just like that – the sudden realization that yes, there is sexual tension between Seoho and himself. 

“I…” Hyungu sets his guitar down carefully. “I haven’t dated anybody since you and I broke up,” he tells Giwook. 

Giwook sighs. “That’s a seriously long time to not be dating anybody, Hyungu-hyung.” 

“But why does he keep pestering me about the music thing?” Hyungu asks. 

“It sounds like he might actually care about your happiness,” says Harin. “Just, y’know, a suggestion. But also – it’s obvious music is a big part of his life. You saw his channel; the man lives and breathes music. It’s not crazy to think that he wants music to be something he and you could share together.” 

“I’m so tired of people thinking I’m just this meek, boring, quiet person – like he can just apply musicianship to me, like a coat or something, and then I’ll be interesting enough for him.” 

Giwook stands up, crosses the floor, and hugs Hyungu. “Hyung, he is obviously already interested in you, after barely meeting you. Well, and stalking your musical skills online. I think maybe you’re just afraid.” 

Hyungu lets go of Giwook. “Well, I don’t need to share music with him. As you say, I’ve barely met him. Besides, I already share music with you two. And if that’s not enough musical sharing, there’s always the collaboration Yonghoon wants us to– ” He claps his hand over his mouth, but it’s too late. 

“Your friend Yonghoon? The a cappella dude, with the killer pipes?” asks Harin. “He wants to collaborate with us?”

“Yeah,” says Hyungu, looking at his shoes. “With his whole a cappella group, actually. Acapocalyptica.” 

“Okay, first of all, that’s a hilarious a cappella group name,” says Giwook. 

“And secondly,” chimes in Harin, “doesn’t it defeat the point for an a cappella group to collaborate with instrumentalists?” 

Hyungu looks at his friends. “It’s a bit creepy, the way you two finish each other’s sentences. You’ve been living together too long. I’m surprised your girlfriend doesn’t pitch a fit, Harin. But anyway, yeah, see? No point to a collaboration. Good talk.” 

“That’s not what I said,” argues Harin. “If they’re up for it, it could be a lot of fun. And maybe this is just what we need – something to rustle us out of our introverted jam session shells.” 

“Is shell-rustling some weird metaphor I don’t know about?” asks Hyungu. “Fine, fine!” he laughs, ducking Harin’s mock fisticuffs. 

Giwook says, “I don’t even need to think about it. I’m in. Something new! You can tell Yonghoon that I’m in, definitely.” 

_____ 

The collaborative tracks and video they record end up sounding amazing – fun, musically creative, and very well-balanced. Hyungu hates to admit it, but the project really did turn out better than he could have imagined. The combination of the highly trained singers in Acapocalyptica with the garage jam session trio _sparkles._

Giwook takes care of most of the studio production aspects. This time, he asks everyone’s permission before uploading the content to YouTube. 

Hyungu, despite his lingering resentment from Giwook’s earlier shenanigans, agrees. 

The content hasn’t been uploaded a day before he gets a text from Seoho. 

_**Seoho:**_   
_Holy fuck._

_**Hyungu:**_   
_You found an even worse restaurant to torture me with?_

_**Seoho:**_   
_You HAVE to let me react to that music. I’m desperate. I’m a Southerner aching for a peach in the summer. I’m a dog within sniffing distance of the rawhide aisle. You have to let me do this!_

_**Hyungu:**_   
_I don’t trust you. You could say anything! Just because I’m quiet doesn’t mean I’m a pushover._

_**Seoho:**_   
_I never said you were. Didn’t even think it. You’re a bit quiet, maybe. But it’s more “handsome and thoughtful” quiet, not like “doormat” quiet - or “secret serial killer” forebodingly quiet, either_

Hyungu smiles at his phone, despite himself.

_**Seoho:**_   
_You know what the easy answer is, here, right?_

_**Hyungu:**_   
_Tell me._

_**Seoho:**_   
_You come record the reaction video with me._

Hyungu breathes in and out deeply, considering.

_**Hyungu:**_   
_Fine. But I pick dinner this time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'd think it's impossible, but every time I hear [End of Spring](https://youtu.be/MLqorz9OvEs), my love for it continues to grow. 
> 
> Also still in love with [A Song Written Easily.](https://youtu.be/Fbj4Dh-QkpA)
> 
> ❤️ both ONEWE and ONEUS!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, some readers dislike it when works have chapters of uneven lengths. 
> 
> Sorry!

Of _course_ Seoho lives in a fancy apartment in a Midtown high-rise. Hyungu’s not sure why he’s surprised, really. It’s clear that Seoho is financially successful enough to afford this sort of place – giant floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the city, in a building almost next door to the most fashionable, artsy brunch location. The apartment faces west and north, too, so it’s unlikely to roast in the summer. Now, in the autumnal sun, it’s absolutely perfect – the sunny apartment a perfect reflection of its relentlessly sunny owner. 

Seoho’s style appears to be mostly spare. It’s not exactly minimalist, but it is devoid of many of the sorts of bric-a-brac Hyungu’s own house has accumulated over the years. Though, to be fair, much of the stuff in Hyungu’s house isn’t really his but rather a leftover, lingering from when it wasn’t his house alone.

Hyungu’s eyes catch on a green, googly-eyed shape sitting in the exact center of the slate-grey sofa, bolstered on either side by smaller decorative cushions. Seoho sees the pause and says, “That’s Pepe, my frog,” as if it were patently obvious why a frog plushie would take pride of place in this expensive apartment. 

Hyungu feels something brush against his leg and jumps slightly, bumping into Seoho. He tries to calm his heartrate down to something less like the rhythm of a jackhammer and more typically human, seeing that what he felt on his skin was simply a... wait, what is it? 

A cat? A cat. A _hairless_ cat. It looks like nothing Hyungu has ever seen, like a pink Egyptian tomb painting covered in an excess of wrinkles. 

“Is that… that is a cat, right?” Hyungu feels like an idiot, asking, but… 

“Yes!” laughs Seoho. “Meet Fluffy!” He bends down to scoop up the wrinkled kitty. 

“You seriously named a hairless cat Fluffy?” Hyungu is nearly lost for words. 

“What? It’s cute. She’s cute! She keeps me warm every night without getting cat fur in the bed. And she’s a sweetheart.”

Sure enough, the cat is closing and reopening her green eyes in long, languid blinks. Her purring in Seoho’s arms is loud enough that Hyungu asks, “Can she be in the room with you while you record vocals? She’s a bit loud.” 

“Oh, no way. I have to shut her out,” says Seoho. He looks at Hyungu thoughtfully. “Nobody else has ever asked that, before. I like how your mind went straight to music.”

Hyungu doesn’t know what to say to that, so he digs his hands into pockets, trying to stave off any nervous fingernail scraping. 

Seoho deposits Fluffy back onto the floor and shows Hyungu around the apartment. It’s not tremendously large, though Seoho’s bedroom – from the brief glimpse Hyungu gets of it from the corridor – is very spacious, and everything feels airy and light. 

The smaller bedroom is Seoho’s recording space, with various different forms of sound insulation on the walls and on the ceiling. 

“I’m surprised the building let you hang these insulation panels from the ceiling – and from the drywall,” says Hyungu. 

“Oh, I for sure didn’t tell them! My friend Geonhak and I spent weeks making these, since I didn’t like the look of anything in stores or online. We made them all in his basement and then brought them here. Hanging them up was the real fun part. And by ‘fun,’ what I mean is… we were lucky to escape with only minor injuries and a mostly intact friendship, after I bought him apology pizza.” 

“Is this the same Geonhak I met at the competition?”

“Yeah! I forgot that you two met. He pretends to hate me, but when I’m wondering which of my friends to call, to help me build large, illicit panels of sound insulation… Geonhak is the only guy I’d call.” 

“I know what you mean,” says Hyungu, as they settle into swiveling desk chairs in Seoho’s recording space. “My friend Giwook – the one who posted our jam sessions online – drives me up the wall sometimes, but he’s my emergency contact on forms, and even when we don’t hang out for a while, I still feel like I could trust him with just about anything.” 

Seoho lets out a _Hrrrrmmm,_ to assure Hyungu he’s listening, while he sets up the recording equipment. 

In this pause, Hyungu finds himself saying, “He’s my friend, but he’s my ex, too. We used to live together.” 

His heart beats a little faster. Hyungu feels a little stressed out every time he has to come out to someone. And being gay, he’s learned, isn’t something you can declare once and be done with. He’s had to come out over and over again, like years ago, when he was at his new neighborhood swimming pool, and a friendly lady in a sunhat introduced herself – then whispered that she’d heard some _gay_ guys had bought the split-level house at the end of the street. “Yeah, that’s me and my boyfriend, Giwook,” he’d said, heart in his throat.

Knowing Seoho is himself gay takes the edge off, but it’s still nerve-racking, somehow.

Seoho doesn’t even blink, doesn’t pause plugging things in and checking levels. “Are you on good terms with all your exes?” 

Hyungu leans back in his swiveling chair. “I don’t have all that many of them, I guess. You?” 

“Depends,” says Seoho. He turns to Hyungu and grins, his smile illuminating his every feature in the orange, setting sunlight. “If they’re too mean or too good-looking, definitely not.” 

“What?” Hyungu feels his face twist in confusion. 

“Well, if they’re assholes, I don’t want to waste any more time on them. If they’re too hot, then either they’re already assholes because of it – see Category A – or I’m likely to want to fuck them when I’m lonely or drunk or tired or whatever. So, y’know, can’t keep them around as friends, either.” 

Hyungu tries to process this. “Do you not think you could just… well, I mean, what about just having some self-control?” 

Seoho laughs. “I’ve got plenty of self-control! I just try to front-load it. And just…” he pauses. “I sometimes have a hard time with… with physical intimacy, you know?” His cheeks bloom into roses. 

_Beautiful,_ Hyungu thinks, then tries to chase the thought away. 

Seoho looks thoughtful before speaking again. “So if I’m like… touch-starved or whatever, the weaker part of me would jump at the chance to go to someone I’ve already been intimate with, you know? Rather than having to break that barrier with a new person. And I might be weird, but I’m not dumb. I don’t want to hook up with any exes.” 

He pauses again. Maybe he’s waiting for Hyungu to say something, but Hyungu’s just not sure what to say. Finally, Seoho continues with a laugh, “At any rate, you seem weirdly resistant to dating me, so maybe we won’t make it so far as having a terrible breakup and me having to write you off.” 

Hyungu’s head whirls with the many steps Seoho seems to have skipped before arriving at this analysis. “Why would you have to write me off? Do you think I’m an asshole?” 

Now Seoho’s smile goes wonky. “No, you fool. You’re one of the most attractive people I’ve ever met. Clearly a Category B situation.” 

Hyungu’s face feels like it’s on fire.

Seoho seems to notice, finally, that he’s making Hyungu uncomfortable, because he turns back to his desk somewhat sheepishly and begins explaining the filming process to Hyungu. 

Before they begin, Seoho grabs them craft beers from his fridge, and Hyungu feels a certain comfortable ease settle back into the room. 

“Ready?” Seoho asks. 

Hyungu nods and takes a deep breath. 

_____ 

They’ve finished filming, they’ve finished a couple of beers each, and they’ve very nearly finished arguing over which Mexican restaurant they should pick for dinner. 

“This place has great outdoor seating,” says Hyungu. “Besides, my choosing dinner was one of the conditions for me coming over!”

“You know, that’s fair,” says Seoho. “But next time, we are absolutely getting margaritas around the corner, okay? You’ll love the live mariachi band.” 

“Deal.” Hyungu finds himself appreciating that the singer isn’t needlessly argumentative about everything. He might be a touch eccentric, but he’s not intentionally combative, either. Also, Hyungu realizes that he doesn’t hate the thought of there being a next time. Doesn’t hate it at all.

They walk along the Midtown sidewalk, Hyungu reflecting on how much this part of the city has changed since his youth. 

Maybe it’s the nostalgia, or maybe it’s the thrill of having been in front of the camera instead of behind the scenes, but Hyungu finds himself drinking a little more heavily than usual. Nothing crazy – he’s not about to emergency-puke into any garden shrubs or washing machines, like in college – but he’s definitely a bit tipsy by the end of dinner. 

On the walk back to Seoho’s, Hyungu asks, “Wait, should I be going back to your place? I could just catch the train. The Midtown station is right near here, isn’t it?” 

“Are you in a condition to be on the train right now, Hyungu?” chuckles Seoho. 

“I’m not that far gone!” protests Hyungu. “It’s not like this city has enough public transportation options for anybody to get lost, anyway.”

“Well, look. If you’re asking if I want you back at my place, then yes, obviously.” 

Hyungu realizes, hearing this, that maybe this was in fact what he was asking. He keeps walking with Seoho, away from the direction of the train. 

Hyungu has barely shut the apartment door behind him, to make sure Fluffy doesn’t get out, when Seoho places his hands on either side of Hyungu’s shoulders, flat against the inside of the door. “You know I want to kiss you, right?” he asks. Hyungu doesn’t say anything back, instead just leaning forward to catch Seoho’s expressive lips in his own.

He feels a surge through his veins as the kiss deepens quickly, his lungs breathless in a long overdue release of sexual energy and sheer desire. His hands come to rest lightly on Seoho’s hips, and for the first time he feels how rock-solid Seoho’s body is. 

Hyungu nips at Seoho’s lips gently – those amazing lips, always in motion, with their deep cupid’s bow. His tongue finds Seoho’s, and he realizes the singer tastes of Mexican food, but somehow sweeter. Hyungu finds himself experiencing a fierce hunger to taste more and more of the auburn-haired boy. 

Seoho’s hands find their way to Hyungu’s back and shoulders, then slowly migrate down lower. Hyungu feels a sudden mischievous urge to grasp Seoho’s butt before Seoho gets to his own. It has not entirely escaped Hyungu’s notice that the singer, despite being slender, has a great ass – round and firm and… and now he can confirm that touching it is everything he’d hoped it might be, when he let himself entertain these sorts of hopes. 

Just as Hyungu’s slightly tipsy brain is asking himself how far they’re going to go tonight, Seoho breaks away. His face is flushed, his pupils are blown out, and he looks… maybe a little confused, actually.

“I’m sorry,” he tells Hyungu, with a raspy, ragged voice. “I can’t do this right now. You’re going to think I’m such a tease. I kept telling myself to fake it til I make it, that – that if I acted confident, I could be, and would be.” 

Hyungu feels a sudden clarity of empathy and affection. He gathers his breath, then says, “Seoho, it’s okay. We... you’re…” He stumbles over his words, feeling even less eloquent than he usually is. “You don’t need to act confident. I like you anyway.” 

Seoho runs his fingers through his auburn waves, and parts of his hair remain sticking up at odd angles. Hyungu is struck by the firm realization that he doesn’t just want to make out with this man or grope his ass. He wants to get to know him properly, for real.

“Seoho,” he says. “Let’s go on a date later this week. Like a real, official date. No pressure.” 

Seoho picks up Fluffy and holds her, exhaling deeply. Hyungu imagines he’s trying to control his body’s response to their kiss, just as he himself is trying to do. 

“That’d be great,” he finally says, giving Fluffy a kiss on her very wrinkled forehead. 

The cat purrs, and Hyungu thinks to himself, _Same, cat. Same._

_____ 

Hyungu settles into a new routine. Instead of watching nature documentaries alone every day, in a house that used to remind him of being in a stable relationship, he talks to Seoho. Sometimes they text, sometimes they video chat, and frequently, they go on actual dates – some of which end in kisses of varying intensity, though never anything further than clothed make-out sessions. 

They slowly begin to confide in each other. 

Hyungu reveals how devastating it was to find himself living alone in a house he used to share with a lover, even as their romantic feelings completely evaporated to the point where they couldn’t remember why they’d started dating in the first place. 

Seoho, in turn, reveals more about his own past relationships, including the sheer number – a number that startles Hyungu. Upon reflection, though, Hyungu decides that he doesn’t begrudge Seoho’s many previous relationships. Not that he’s looking to judge, regardless, but each and every past boyfriend seemed to be an honest attempt at finding something real and meaningful – even as the increasing number of painful breakups created real, pervasive intimacy issues for Seoho.

It’s not all serious discussion and emotionally heavy weight, not at all. Hyungu learns that Seoho used to do gymnastics and still goes tumbling on occasion – which explains the lean, wiry muscle he’s felt a few times now, through Seoho’s clothes. Seoho learns about Hyungu’s love of nature documentaries and his penchant for penguins, texting him cute penguin memes if Hyungu’s had a bad day.

It’s not until Giwook and Harin ask him casually about bringing his boyfriend to dinner that Hyungu realizes Seoho _is_ his boyfriend.

He brings it up on a video chat one evening, as he’s getting paint off his hands (it took him weeks to feel comfortable video chatting while doing this, but he’s discovered it’s not too weird as long as he angles his phone at his face high enough to not share the paint-scraping). 

“Did you want to maybe come to one of my jam sessions with Harin and Giwook?” he asks. “We usually have some sort of homemade dinner, too. It’s really chilled out.”

“I was starting to think I was going to have to invite myself,” says Seoho. Hyungu giggles.

“Um, also,” Hyungu pauses his paint scraping. “They… they think you’re my boyfriend?”

“Aren’t I?” asks Seoho. 

Hyungu laughs, blond hair falling into his eyes. “Okay. Just checking.”

_____ 

Dinner goes even better than Hyungu had hoped. Seoho falls into easy conversation with both Giwook and Harin, and they don’t tease him for deconstructing the lasagna that Harin made for dinner, carefully peeling back the layers of ground beef and sheets of pasta. 

Hyungu is especially gratified that Seoho gets along well with Giwook, the two laughing good-naturedly about a few of Hyungu’s quirks, before he blushes and tells them to quit it. 

After dinner, they all head to the garage. Hyungu, Harin, and Giwook play a few songs for Seoho, whose appreciation seems earnest, his eyes going wide despite his familiarity with their recorded content. 

“I knew you all were good,” he says, “but hearing this all live is a different thing entirely. Like, you probably didn’t even need to edit together lots of takes, right? You can just play this stuff straight, first try?” 

The three friends shrug and mutter their agreement. None of them are really all that extroverted, Hyungu realizes. He clears his throat and asks, “Did you want to try singing along with us?”

Seoho’s immediate smile brings out his most twinkly, crescent-shaped eyes. “You don’t have to ask twice.” 

Seoho lobs song ideas back and forth with the jam session trio until they find something all four agree they know well and would enjoy playing – a Bruno Mars song, “Talking to the Moon.”

They finish the song, and Hyungu sees that both Giwook and Harin are staring at Seoho, slack-jawed. 

“I told you he was good,” Hyungu smirks. Seoho’s cheeks go rosy, surprising Hyungu. This isn’t his boyfriend’s first time blowing people away with his vocal skills. Why should Hyungu’s compliment make him blush?

“Giwook,” says Harin, recovering his senses, “Please tell me you recorded that.” 

“Yuuup, sure did,” confirms Giwook, shaking his head. “Can I upload this on our channel?” 

“Fine by me,” says Seoho. 

Three faces turn to look at Hyungu, who hesitates. “That… not to be weird, but wouldn’t that, um, maybe attract a lot of attention? I don’t think I want that.” 

They all look at him as if he’s sprouted another head. 

“Hyungu-yah, what are you so afraid of?” asks Seoho. 

Hyungu stands up and sets his guitar down deliberately. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.” 

He walks from the garage to the kitchen, setting his elbows on the cold countertop and his head in his hands. 

Seoho joins him there. “Hey,” he says, quietly. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Not here,” says Hyungu. “Not now.” He senses his boyfriend’s hesitation, before Seoho reaches a hand out to gently stroke Hyungu’s hair. The urge for real physical comfort rushes through him – a desire for something stronger, more intimate. Something he knows Seoho isn’t ready to give. 

He groans quietly and rests his cheek on the counter, feeling a wave of shame and guilt.

_____ 

They’re at the other Mexican restaurant – Seoho’s favorite, the one with the live mariachi band – when Hyungu realizes he’s been with Seoho for over three months. 

Fluffy now curls up in his lap sometimes. He once fell asleep on Seoho’s sofa, waking to find a soft blanket over his body and Pepe tucked neatly into in his arms. He aches with the realization that he’d much rather have awoken with Pepe’s owner in his arms, instead.

“Seoho,” he says, over the sounds of the mariachi music.

“Mm?” Seoho doesn’t look up from the important task of dismantling his enchiladas. 

“Should we… should we be in therapy?” Now Seoho looks up. “I just… could we maybe work on our… issues?” 

“What do you mean?” Seoho’s face is worried. The mariachi band starts playing _Guadalajara,_ and Hyungu shudders at the terrible timing of the insistent, repetitive song. 

“Maybe a professional could help address our… physical intimacy issues,” Hyungu whispers. “The fear, I mean.”

“You mean _my_ issues,” says Seoho. His brows furrow, hurt or angry – or both.

“Maybe?” 

_Guadalajara, Guadalajara!!_

“You’re one to talk, Hyungu-yah!” Seoho grips the table with both hands, as if he’s afraid it – or he – might go somewhere. “You are one to talk about fear. You are so afraid of people discovering your musical talent that you can’t even talk to me, your boyfriend, about WHY you’re afraid!” 

Now Hyungu’s hackles are raised. “Why are you changing the subject?” 

“Why are you accosting me about sex in public?! How dare you!” He’s never seen this side of Seoho – or heard his voice like this, serpent-stinging and razor sharp.

_GUADALAJARAAAA!!_

Hyungu stands up and leaves the table. 

He doesn’t look back. Fuck all that noise.

_____ 

Days pass, and Hyungu doesn’t hear from Seoho. He also doesn’t initiate contact, himself.

He catches up on a lot of nature programming, including a documentary about emperor penguins. Halfway through, he realizes he has no idea what the narrator said, or what has happened in the program. He cuts off the TV and, for the first time in a long time, cries, pressing his face into one of his old, hideous, paisley couch cushions.

Eventually, he dries his tears, rewinds the documentary, and starts watching from the beginning. 

The narrator starts talking about how same-sex male penguin couples are sometimes so eager to raise an egg of their own that zookeepers will give them spare, orphaned eggs to hatch. 

Hyungu bursts into tears again and turns the TV off again. This time it stays off. 

He cries himself to sleep.

Hyungu wakes up in a daze, hoping that it’s morning, and that he can go to work soon. He checks his phone: just past nine o’clock in the evening. _Shit._

His back hurts from the awkward angle in which he fell asleep on the sofa. Glancing back at his phone, he sees a text notification.

His heart leaps – _Seoho?_ – and then sinks. It’s a friendly hello from Yonghoon. 

**_Yonghoon:_**  
 _How you doing, buddy?_

**_Hyungu:_**  
 _You need a judge for another a cappella competition? I’m NOT interested_

**_Yonghoon:_**  
 _But you got a sweet deal the last time – free dinner plus a hot boyfriend!_

**_Hyungu:_**  
 _That’s a bit of a sensitive subject right now, I really don’t want to talk about it_

**_Yonghoon:_**  
 _Whoa! Did you break up?_

**_Hyungu:_**  
 _Not sure what part of “I don’t want to talk about it” you don’t get_

**_Yonghoon:_**  
 _Okay, sorry. But I thought you two were really cute together_

**_Hyungu:_**  
 _OMG, hyung, just shut up_

**_Yonghoon:_**  
 _Sorry, sorry, you’re right!_

Hyungu sets his phone down and looks around his darkened living room, illuminated only by the LED display of the electronics in the room. 

Truth be told, he’s not sure what his own relationship status is. 

His phone alerts him to another text message.

**_Yonghoon:_**  
 _You should talk to him_

**_Hyungu:_**  
 _Are you fucking serious right now_

**_Yonghoon:_**  
 _well you didn’t want to talk about “it” so I asked him instead_

Hyungu stares at his phone in disbelief.

**_Yonghoon:_**  
 _I know, I know, inappropriate. But really, you should talk to him_

**_Hyungu:_**  
 _You are the worst person ever_

Seriously, it’s like all his friends are in a contest to see who can violate Hyungu’s boundaries the most.

Except, he realizes with a wince, Seoho, who – despite his insistence on Hyungu’s musical talent – has always checked with him before doing anything he thinks might push Hyungu’s comfort level. It’s why Seoho still hasn’t mentioned being in a relationship on his YouTube channel, despite his fans’ interest in the matter. Hyungu had said he didn’t want to be revealed like that, and Seoho has respected his wishes.

**_Hyungu:_**  
 _I fucking hate you right now. I’ll get over it, but please leave me alone for now_

**_Yonghoon:_ **   
_Okay. I’m sorry._

Hyungu stares at his phone, then calls Seoho. He picks up on the first ring.

“Hi,” says Hyungu. 

“Hi.” Seoho’s voice is quiet.

Neither says anything further, the seconds ticking on as the dead silence fills Hyungu’s head. 

Finally, Seoho sighs. “Do you want to talk or what?” 

“Yeah,” says Hyungu. “Want to come over?” 

_____ 

They sit on the living room floor, backs to the old paisley sofa. They’re not touching, though Hyungu realizes he still wants that. 

“I’m sorry,” says Seoho. 

“Me too.” Hyungu feels the tightness in his chest ease, just a little bit. 

“Maybe you’re right,” admits Seoho. “I think therapy would be great for us. Actually, I should probably already be seeing someone, just on my own.” 

“I meant it when I said _we_ should maybe be in therapy,” says Hyungu.

“I know,” says Seoho. “You always mean what you say. It’s one of the reasons I love you.” 

Hyungu stares at him. 

“You don’t have to say it back or anything,” says Seoho. “In fact, please don’t. This isn’t call and response. I did figure that much out, though – that I love you.” 

Hyungu closes his eyes and breathes. 

They sit quietly for some time, breaths settling into a coordinated rhythm, before Hyungu feels something on his knee. His eyes fly open to see Seoho’s hand on his jeans. 

Seoho shifts closer. “I don’t say this to try to get out of therapy. But… I think I’m ready. Actually – I know I’m ready.” 

Hyungu puts his hand on Seoho’s. “No, Seoho… I… I never want to pressure you. Me blowing up and leaving was just… I wasn’t trying to manipulate you or anything.” 

Seoho leans forward and kisses Hyungu – a deep, penetrating, sultry kiss. He breaks from Hyungu long enough to chuckle, “That mariachi band was pretty fucking annoying. I don’t blame you for leaving,” before resuming the kiss. 

A high-pitched whimper escapes Hyungu’s throat as Seoho begins to nibble at his jaw. “Your jawline is spectacular, a true gift from above.” He tugs off most of the guitarist’s clothing, kissing each newly nude body part as it’s exposed. 

Hyungu then slides Seoho’s shirt over his head and takes in the lean, athletic frame before him.

Seoho shivers.

“Are you sure?” asks Hyungu. 

“Extremely,” says Seoho. 

Hyungu stands up and extends his hand to his boyfriend. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“Thank God. That sofa is hideous,” says Seoho, eyes a-twinkle as he stands up.

Hyungu bites his lower lip and gives the singer a playful whack on the ass. “Cheeky.” 

They settle onto the bed, and Hyungu could almost cry for how amazing Seoho looks below him, auburn waves spread messily onto the pillow, washboard abs fully revealed. 

“Seoho?” he murmurs into his boyfriend’s neck, just below and behind his ear. 

“Mmm?” 

“Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” 

Seoho sighs, running one hand gently along Hyungu’s back. “Only if you promise to listen when I say I don’t mind hurting a little.”

Hyungu kisses his collarbone before answering. “Understood.” 

_____ 

Hyungu calls out of work the next morning. He speaks quietly in the bathroom, not wanting to wake Seoho. 

He returns to the bedroom, climbs back under the covers, and wraps himself around his beautiful, sleeping boyfriend. His breath catches, as he tries once more to fully comprehend that Seoho is here – in his house, in his bed, in his arms – exactly where he’s always wanted him to be. 

He presses a kiss behind Seoho’s delicate ear, and the singer murmurs wordlessly into the pillow before turning around to face him. 

“Morning,” croaks Seoho, the word a rasp – nothing like his soaring singing voice or the loudness of… Well, last night’s memories will stick with Hyungu for a long time. 

“Morning,” returns the guitarist. He kisses Seoho’s nose. 

The high pitch of Seoho’s giggle is a sharp contrast to the raspy voice of a second ago, and Hyungu finds himself giggling, too. 

They’re going to be okay. 

He pulls Seoho even closer to himself, as if to merge their bodies into one. 

Maybe, just maybe, it won’t only be Fluffy keeping Seoho warm at night in bed, anymore. 

_____ 

_**Epilogue** _

Hyungu hadn’t realized until he signed the last of the paperwork just how happy he would be to sell his split-level house in the suburbs.

Seoho had been more reluctant to sell his apartment, but when a larger apartment in the same Midtown high-rise went up for sale, they both jumped at the chance. 

_____ 

Hyungu is cooking dinner and begins to chop onions. He nicks his knuckle with the knife and winces. 

He tells Seoho about it as they eat, pouting a little childishly and showing his husband the cut. 

Seoho’s face betrays amusement, not sympathy, however. “Remember when your knuckles were always cut up and rough, from you scraping paint off them all the time?”

Hyungu cringes. “God, I’ve tried to forget.” 

Instead of laughing, Seoho’s expression goes warm and kindly. “I would still love you if you had just stuck with painting forever.” 

“Well, I would hope so! I was pretty good at it.” 

“I know! Actually… now that we’re on the topic, do you want to paint her room this weekend?” 

Hyungu feels a rush of love and excitement. “Yeah, yeah I do. We’re going with peach, right?” 

“Mm-hmm,” Seoho nods. “Peach, for our little peachy princess.” 

Hyungu laughs. “You make her sound like a video game character, not a real human baby!” 

“Oh, no!” Seoho’s voice is loaded with mock concern. “Don’t tell the agency!” 

“Listen, if they’re not scared away by your eating habits, I doubt a video game reference is going to change their minds.” 

Seoho squeals indignantly. He gets up from the table, intending to play-fight Hyungu, but the guitarist – the now-professional guitarist – pulls his husband onto his lap and silences him with a kiss. 

“I love you,” Hyungu tells Seoho. 

Seoho grins. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💕


End file.
